It's Always You
by captainodonewithyou
Summary: In which the good/evil reversal results in Killian the upstanding Captain of the Royal navy and Emma his not-quite-as-upstanding wife. (pirate)


It is not the first time she has stumbled back to his ship in the dead of night with shaking hands and rum on her breath, eyes drooping and wild. It is more a routine, truly. It is not the first time he has sat out on the deck in the milky moonlight anxiously awaiting her return, either. He sits on the steps to quarterdeck with the top buttons of his uniform undone and his hair surely stood up in every direction, becoming further acquainted with the stars as he tries to distract himself from her absence—letter clutched tight in his hand.

He knows she is more than capable of caring for herself (he knows he should fear more for whoever dares cross her bloody path), but he cannot help but worry ceaselessly for her every night, till he catches a flash of bright blonde from the corner of his eye and can breathe easily again.

Tonight when he sees her, though, the fears do not melt out of his chest, and the paper clenched between his fingers seems to grow heavier.

She stumbles onto the deck and he rises to meet her, heart heaving in his chest as she slips out of the shadow of the mast into the rays from the moon—and he can see how her hair is tangled and her eyes dark and her hands tremble.

She catches sight of his eyes drifting concerned over her, and buries her hand into the material of her dress as she takes half a step back, sinking back into the darkness.

He follows, and when her eyes fall to the deck and the shaking of her hands become too much for the heavy leather folds of her dress to hide, he reaches out and tangles his fingers round her quivering wrist.

"Alright, love?"

She shrugs and he feels her muscles tighten beneath his hold, but she does not move to pull away. Her eyes slowly rise to his, and through the shadows he can see just how bright and full and green they are—pupils mere pinpricks.

"I'm fine."

He sighs, heart clenching again, and he grips her wrist tighter—before raising the crumpled paper for her to see.

"I received a concerned message from the court today," he says softly, voice scratching through the quiet night—and he does not have to explain further, because they both know precisely what the message is about.

Her eyes fall again slowly away from him, lashes heavy as she squares her shoulders and presses her lips into a tight line. He swallows, and then heaves a full breath as he shoves the note deep into his pocket as it will go, as if burying it in the starch fabric might make it disappear.

"Emma," he says, pressing his eyes closed tight a moment and reaching with his free hand to scratch behind his ear. When his eyes drift open stars are blinking across his vision of her. "My love, you are my wife and I you know I will always do what I can to protect you."

Her jaw twitches in the way that assures him her teeth are grinding.

"But you are the head of the royal goddamn navy and my fuck ups tend to go remarkably noticed. I _know, _Killian."

Her eyes are still straying out across the ocean, avoiding him with remarkable resolve until the words pass her lips and a shaking breath follows them through and she tilts her head up to stare at him with a squared jaw. He does not even feel what must be becoming a near permanent crease of worry across his brow until she brings her hand to cup his face gently, thumb reaching out to smooth across the lines.

"Mind your ship. Don't _worry_ about whatever shit I'm doing."

She drops her hand to his jaw and runs her thumb along the scar that lines his cheek, sending pleasant shivers through him.

He has _seen _what fiery magic she is capable of calling to these same gentle fingertips at any given moment.

"My concern for you is not a matter of choice" he breathes in tense spurts as he steps closer to her, crowding her back towards the mast and pressing a hand to her hip as the other tangles amongst her fingers. Her breath catches at the sharp movement, and her hand falls startled to clench at the fabric at his shoulder. "You _must _be more cautious."

Her brow furrows and a fire sparks in her eyes at his words and he knows that there is _nothing _she hates more in the world than being told what to do.

(There is nothing he hates more in the world than the thought of losing her).

Her eyes slowly scan his face, jaw tightening and fire stoking as she shifts nearer to him, heat growing in the little space between them.

"Careful, Captain," she hisses, spicy rum heavy on her breath. "Wouldn't want to go ordering around the wrong people and lose any important _assets._"

He is not one to back down from her challenges, and he presses closer to her, till her back is firm against the mast and their noses are near brushing.

"Preventing the loss of those _assets, _darling is _precisely _what I am doing."

His breathy words are laced with the angry fright that has been building within him all day and the sound elicits a smirk from his wife as she drops the hand from his shoulder, tracing a burning pattern over his heart with her fingers before planting her hand on his chest and giving him a firm shove back.

"I don't need you to take care of me."

He clenches his hands in tight, pulsing fists at his sides and the words slip from his lips in a frustrated rush.

"I never said _you _were the one who needed anything, Swan."

When she steps forward to kiss him, the fire has burned out.

Xxx

It is the next time they make port in the kingdom that once would have been hers that it happens. That he and the crew are loading their shipments painstakingly to the docks and he is in the belly sorting through a bloody stocking _nightmare _when his first mate tells him in shaking tones that he'd best get to the deck.

He slinks out into the hot sun to see her golden locks shining bright, arms tied behind her back between two glaring members of the royal guard, dressed head to toe in the good-queen's royal purple hue. That it feels like his entire body lets out a resounding thud, and he has to breath in long and steady to compose himself before he can cross the deck to them, concentrating on his steps as he moves, keeping them slow and even against the pulsing of his heart.

"The bloody hell is the meaning of this?" He snaps the words when he is close enough to see the boredom in her eyes, and he hopes the rage masks the way his tone quivers. When the guards' gazes land on him he catches a radiating glimmer of fear and swallows a sigh of relief.

"A warrant has been placed out for her arrest." One of the two tells him after a stretching pause. Killian steps a touch closer than entirely necessary to the party before coming to a stop.

"Is that right?" He bites, and the guard tenses but nods once. He pauses and looks slowly between the men, forcing himself not to let his gaze settle on the blonde between them and praying to every deity she'll hold on two bloody seconds before blasting them into tomorrow and blowing any semblance of cover she has remaining. "Do you men know who this lass is?"

The one who'd spoken earlier shifts uncomfortably beneath his sharp gaze, and finally breaks.

"Emma Nolan, sir."

He clenches his teeth together and forces a tight smile.

"My wife, mate."

He can feel they are gathering an audience, and resists the urge to bark a command over his shoulder at his crew, instead focusing his entire piercing attention on the crumbling guards.

"And do you know who _I _am?"

The man straightens, however slightly, as if pleased he has a certain answer. "Yes, Captain Jones, sir."

Killian narrows his eyes.

"And your Queen truly wishes you to take captive the wife of your best allies Naval Captain?"

"…Sir?"

He finally allows himself to look about at his men, straightening.

"It seems we'll be loading back up, gentlemen," he calls, and when they hesitate he continues, "_Now_!"

The crew finally begins to move however slowly to abide to his dangerous command, and he can hear the guards quiet facilitating tones, until—

"We aren't looking to start a war, sir." The first guard finally speaks slowly, looking sideways at the other. Killian raises a brow in challenge.

"In that case, I recommend you disappear. Without Emma."

The guards exchange further looks and soft murmurs.

And then, they do.

"Finishing unloading and set sail," he calls out to the groaning crew as soon as the guards and their profuse apologies have disappeared off the port. It is when he finally allows is eyes to fall on Emma that the terror he'd pressed back swallows him whole—her eyes wide and glues on him. "My quarters," he tells her, voice scratching out of the sudden dryness of his mouth.

She hesitates, gaze still stuck on him.

"_Now, _Emma."

She does not scold him for giving her an order and he presses his eyes shut tight as she disappears into the cabin, finally letting his heart race out of control.

Xxx

He cannot face her until they have left port and he is certain she is safe, at least for the time-being. But even then when he reaches the door to his quarters he sinks against it before he can open it, forehead pressed hard to the splintering wood as he listens to the groan of his ship and fights the nagging feeling in his chest that this is wrong, all wrong.

It takes five minutes and three reaches towards the handle before he can open the door, certain she is asleep.

She is not.

She is sat on the edge of his bed, staring weakly at her feet and looking smaller than he thought possible. But the moment the door opens she is on her feet, rushing out some variation of apology that he cannot hear as he crosses the cabin in a frustrated sweep and drags her flush against him, clutching her waist and drowning her words in his lips.

"What. The bloody hell. Were you thinking?" He scolds between frantic, dragging kisses, trying to ignore that still biting feeling of w_rong, wrong, wrong _eating at the back of his mind.

She responds to his enthusiasm but not his words, tilting her head and deepening the kiss, dragging her hands along his chest until she is fingering at the bottom of his coat and he steadies his resolve, releasing her hips and reaching instead to cradle her cheeks and pull barely away, tightening his jaw and awaiting her answer.

She breaths a shaky sigh.

"It's just who I _am _Killian. I'm not some upstanding hero the way you are. I tried the good thing, remember? It didn't stick."

The answer does not satisfy him and he shakes his head once, nose brushing hers before her eyes lift and train on his.

"You nearly started a _war _and you're confronting me? I clearly am not the only one of us who is fucked up."

Her eyes blink shut and her fingers find his shoulders again, clutching tight.

"That was so _stupid_." Her eyes are still shut as she mumbles the words. "You know they had every right to arrest me." She pauses again, and pain lines her face as she forces her eyes open and clenches her fingers tighter around his shoulders, "Why the _hell _would you risk everything for me. I'm a _villain_."

An age old promise echoes in his ears and he tangles a hand in her hair as he presses a gentler peck to her lips. The promise whispers in her voice but they are no words she has ever spoken to him and it makes his heart beat at an unfamiliar tempo.

"You forget that I have seen you at your worst, my love. I choose to see the best in you." He trails his fingers down her neck and across her collarbone, settling his palm above her beating chest, "I know goodness is in this heart of yours."

She smiles weakly, and when her eyes drift from where his hand is settled back up to him they are teary.

"You are more ridiculous than I thought," she says breathily, and he shakes his head.

"'s called hope, Emma. It is where all happy endings begin."

She loops her arms around his waist and drops her head to his shoulder, lips on his neck as she breathes him in slowly.

"If you insist."

(It is somewhere in the heated kisses and utterances of happy endings following that something in her eyes shifts and the next time their lips fall together that heavy something grasping at his heart is pulled away in a shimmering wave of burning air that clears his mind and melts away the fog.

"_Hook_."

His forgotten moniker has never sounded so bloody heart wrenching on her tongue.

And perhaps they should stop kissing, should report to the deck and turn the Jolly Roger to the shore. Perhaps they should return immediately to their duties of making certain every bloody fairytale character has their happy endings fulfilled.

But perhaps it will not hurt anyone that they take a moment of happy endings for themselves).


End file.
